


Deep Breath

by ThePinkFizz



Series: Shagging Sherlock Holmes [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Breathplay, Experienced John, First Time Bottoming, M/M, Virgin Sherlock, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 18:08:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10037681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePinkFizz/pseuds/ThePinkFizz
Summary: After completing phase one, Sherlock is anxious to see what phase two is all about. It’s a sort of experiment for him. If this was the high, then John was his drug.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I am SO SO SO SO SORRY for not being active lately!!! I know a lot of you guys have been wondering where I am. I'm fine, first of all, I haven't fallen off the face of the Earth (yet) :) I've just been slammed between Uni and my job so I haven't had a lot of time for writing lately. :( But there's ONE WEEK until my mid-semester break, so expect lots of updates then!!!! Ok, so, yay! Update!! If you're concerned about the tags, don't be. It's honestly quite minor. Hope you guys enjoy this! Comments and kudos are always appreciated. And away we go!! <3 PF

Being an addict, Sherlock knew what it was like. He was anxious, shaking, sweating with anticipation at what might come next. It had been a month or so since John had… _introduced_ Sherlock to this new stimulus.

And he had been _practicing_. He was so well trained that he could make himself come in two minutes— _flat._ He had tested out different techniques to see what he liked, _several_ of which he had learned from _John._ But that didn’t mean that John _knew_.

John would leave his door open ajar in the mornings sometimes, open just enough for a curious eye to peak through. The first time Sherlock had watched John, he was half-hard five minutes in. He began to crave more, one time copying John’s motions on himself. It was a _thrill,_ a _high._

The thing Sherlock seemed to enjoy the most, despite all the things he had learned from John and the internet— _the internet._ Sherlock had a newfound appreciation for the world-wide web. But anyway, the thing Sherlock seemed to enjoy the most was the idea of _John._ Just the thought of his deep blue eyes sent Sherlock straight to his room. They couldn’t even _eat dinner_ together anymore.

But Sherlock soon found himself craving more than just his own touch. It was like any good addict knew, once you were addicted, you had to up the dosage. And Sherlock wanted to up it as far as it would go. He wanted _sex_. With _John._

 _John._ It had always been _John_ , hadn’t it? From the very first moment they had met, Sherlock knew there was something _different_ about the man. It wasn’t nicotine, cocaine, or even morphine. It was _John. John was his drug_.

And Sherlock _craved him_. Night and day, that was all he wanted. _John._ Even the slightest hint of contact, a brush of a hand or a quick glance could send the detective into a frenzy. He had rubbed himself _raw_ in the past week. _But it wasn’t enough_. It would _never_ be _enough_ unless he had _John._

That was when Sherlock decided he would ask John. Ask him to initiate _phase two._ He knew he was ready.

Sherlock had found himself gaining more confidence about _these matters_ over the past month. But perhaps not enough confidence to ask John for what he wanted. _What he craved._

“John?”

He started, looking intently at the doctor.

_“What?”_

John seemed preoccupied pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“John,”

Sherlock started, positioning himself next to the shorter man at the counter.

“I-I want phase two.”

_“What?”_

John said, clearly forgetting the reference he had made all those weeks back.

“I-I want phase two.”

Sherlock repeated.

_“What are you going on about?”_

John took a sip of his coffee. Sherlock was frustrated to say the least. _And not just mentally._ He raked his hands through his curls, taking a shuddering breath.

“John…I…I want…I want to have sex…with you…”

John spat his coffee out rather unceremoniously, looking agape at the detective. The taller man bit his lip, beginning to work through his thoughts with his hands.

“These past few weeks, I’ve learned so much. My eyes have been opened to a whole new world I was oblivious to. I have felt…invigorated. The feelings…the sensations…it’s fantastic. But John…I-I need more. I _crave_ more. I want to feel you…feel your flesh…hot and slick with the effort of pleasuring me…hear your breath in spastic little pants…you…moaning my name…I want it… _all_ of it.”

John stood staring at Sherlock, his mouth open. He placed his mug of coffee down on the countertop, turning.

_“I don’t think you’re ready for that, Sherlock.”_

The detective grappled to keep John intrigued. He grabbed onto his arm.

“But I am, John! I am!”

John crossed his arms over his chest.

_“Ok. Rimming. Explain it.”_

Sherlock licked his lips.

“Rimming…the insertion of the tongue into the anal sphincter where stretching motions are applied in an attempt to work the muscles loose enough for penetration, most commonly with a penis.”

_“Done your research.”_

“John…I want this…I _really_ want this…”

John cocked an eyebrow.

_“Is this begging I hear? Is Sherlock Holmes begging?”_

“Please John. Please.”

Sherlock looked at John, his eyes full of need. That was when John lunged at him, grabbing onto the front of his shirt, crashing their lips together.

_“You…have no idea…how fucking hot…you are…when you beg…”_

John breathed out in pants between kisses.

Sherlock was caught slightly off guard. But, he began to work his mouth against John’s, keeping his arms at his sides. John’s arm went around his neck, fingers tangling in curls.

_“Your room or mine?”_

-

John pushed the door shut behind them, kissing Sherlock with newfound ferocity. He was stripping the detective of his navy shirt, letting his fingers explore uncharted flesh. His eyes skirted over Sherlock’s pale torso; a sight he had never seen before.

Sherlock, however, was anxious. Thoughts of self-doubt began swirling around in his ever-busy brain. _What if John got mad? What if he wasn’t satisfied? What if he did something wrong?_

_“Sherlock? Sherlock?”_

He snapped out of his thought looking down at John.

_“Is something wrong?”_

Sherlock shook his head.

“W-what do you want me to do?”

John smiled.

_“Relax. It’s not brain surgery.”_

He gently pushed Sherlock towards the bed, encouraging the detective to sit down.

_“Relax.”_

John repeated, noting how Sherlock took a breath.

He removed Sherlock’s shirt the rest of the way, dropping his lips to the pale skin, sucking lightly.

Sherlock dropped his head back, giving John better access.

“John…mhmm…”

John pushed up between Sherlock’s knees, turning him, pushing him down onto his back. With his mouth occupied, John began to work open Sherlock’s trousers, the doctor noting the detective’s present state of arousal.

Sherlock’s hands began to creep up onto John’s chest, somewhat unconsciously.

John’s lips worked across the column of the detective’s throat, who hummed appreciatively. Sherlock’s left hand had settled in the crook of John’s hip.

“W-what comes next?”

_“This,”_

John said, exasperated, his lips cupping around the ball of Sherlock’s bony shoulder.

He pushed the detective’s legs open further into an “x” with his hand, sitting back onto his knees to strip off his jumper.

Sherlock’s eyes scanned over John’s torso unapologetically. His icy blue eyes were unrecognizable, the normally pin-prick sized pupils blown to the size of a 2p coin.

John took Sherlock by the wrist, running his cold palm over his own skin. He watched Sherlock’s eyes close at the sensation of the touch. Soon, Sherlock’s fingers were moving all on their own, exploring the generous muscles, his tongue peeking out from between his bow lips.

John’s slacks were soon gone, and Sherlock could feel the other man’s erection digging into his thigh sharply as the doctor crept back up over his body.

John’s fingers hooked over Sherlock’s pants when the detective’s hands suddenly came over John’s.

The doctor’s eyes focused into Sherlock’s, two unrecognizable shades of blue clashing with each other like the colours of kaleidoscopes.

_“What’s wrong?”_

“I-”

Sherlock panted.

“I just…it’s…I don’t want to…disappoint you…”

John stilled.

_“Oh, Sherlock…”_

He smiled, running the back of his hand over one of the detective’s razor-sharp cheekbones.

_“Don’t worry. Just relax. Relax.”_

John’s fingers resumed their work, slipping the black satin down the detective’s pasty legs.

Sherlock breathed out.

_“Good, good. Just relax.”_

The detective’s adamant erection bounced out, curling up onto the flat of his stomach.

Sherlock observed the way John ran his tongue between his lips. His breaths hitched.

John placed his hands on top of Sherlock’s thighs, rubbing little circles into the tense muscles.

_“Just relax.”_

The doctor slowly took two fingers into his mouth, running them over the warm, wet expanse of his tongue. His cheek expanded out when the digits stretched inside his mouth.

Sherlock was pushed up slightly, his wrists flexed as he watched John with wide eyes, almost every shred of colour gone as his pupils pushed them back.

John removed the digits from his mouth, a trail of saliva connecting them to his lips still.

Sherlock was panting.

_“Here,”_

John started, flexing Sherlock’s knees with some gentle encouragement. Sherlock let John guide his movements.

“Like this?”

He started tentatively.

_“Exactly.”_

John brought his hand down between the detective’s legs, fingers crooked.

_“Now just relax. The more tense you are, the more it’ll hurt. Ready?”_

Sherlock nodded, and John slowly worked just a single finger into the ring of muscles at first.

Sherlock practically screamed. He bucked up, groping for John’s hand, clamping down on it so tightly as if he we giving birth.

“JOHN! Oh, god, JOHN!”

He wasn’t sure what possess him to call _that_ out. Religion wasn’t going to save him now.

John had to suppress a smirk. He worked another finger into the detective.

_“This ok?_ _How’s it feel?”_

Sherlock’s feet bowed off the mattress, curling up onto his toes.

“Hngh…a-ah-ah…J-john…John!!”

Sherlock screwed his eyes shut, his body responding just to John’s touch. His breaths were shallow and spastic, every muscle in his body held taught. He was strung out.

Slowly, the pain began to subside and turned into something far more… _pleasurable._

And that was when John slowly replaced his crooked fingers with the head of his cock. Sherlock’s back reared off the mattress, his eyes blown wide with lust, distorted pools of inky black. His bow lips were parted as to take in more air, every inch of pale skin covered in beaded-up sweat. He glimmered like a crystal in the low light.

John began to work his hips back and forth, rocking slowly, measured. 

Sherlock’s toes curled down into the mattress, his hands fisting the bedsheets. Splotches of pink dusted the high curves of his cheekbones, his curls were messed up and mused.

“John—”

He managed.

John acknowledged him with a stark grunt.

“I want…I want you to put your hand…on my trachea…and press down…”

_“What?”_

John’s hips stilled.

“Just…do it…I know what I’m doing…”

John’s brows knit together.

“It will…heighten the experience…”

Sherlock assured.

John licked his lips, as if contemplating before slowly wrapping his hand around the column of Sherlock’s neck. The detective gasped for breath as John’s hips continued their deliciously slow movements.

His pale fingers came overtop John’s squeezing. John, abashed, retracted his hand.

“No!”

Sherlock rasped.

“Keep…keep going…”

John watched Sherlock’s face contort with pleasure as he replaced his hand, constricting the detective’s airway. His lips were parted, skin flushed with the lack of oxygen.

“B-break as m-many s-sub-subcutaneous capillaries as you want…”

John watched the way Sherlock’s pale skin turned a pleasing shade of reddish-purple underneath the pressure of his fingertips.

He had increased the pace of his thrusts, Sherlock making a wide range of incomprehensible, unintelligible sounds from whispers and murmurs to gaps and shrieks.

“J-John!”

Sherlock’s hand grabbed onto the doctor’s hip suddenly, his eyes narrowed slits as he pressed them closed.

This feeling…it was intoxicating…better than a high…the build… _oh god the build_ …he would never get used to this feeling.

There was a tight coil in the pit of his gut, like before, but _stronger._ Every muscle in his body seemed to go stiff as John continued snapping his hips forward. His brain went… _blank_. And it _never_ went _blank._

He was crying out, breathing heavily out through his mouth. The feeling of a slight temperature change had him opening his eyes.

The bottom of John’s abdomen as well as his own taut, pale skin was painted in a coat of cold, semi-translucent liquid. Sherlock slowly reached his hand down and ran a long finger through the tacky substance.

“Curious…”

He rasped.

The tumbling inflection in the detective’s voice had John coming, subjecting Sherlock to a whole new set of sensations.

It took Sherlock a good several minutes in order to regain some sense of self. His chest was rising and falling heavily, the sweat on his skin slowly going cold. John had crashed down into the space next to the detective pressing a soft kiss into Sherlock’s dark tresses.

John chuckled at the sight of the staggered gumshoe.

_“So, everything that you expected?”_

Sherlock paused, and John couldn’t tell if it was genuine or dramatic. His pale fingers rubbed at the bruises that were slowly forming on his neck. His voice was still shaky.

“I had deduced that such an… _experience_ would be…well…I…I don’t…”

_“What? You don’t remember?”_

“No…”

Sherlock said absently.

“You have eviscerated my mind of all thought.”

John seemed rather proud of himself.

_“But…breathplay? Really? On your first time?”_

Sherlock shrugged slightly.

“I thought the action might…what is the phrase…‘spice things up.’”

John’s fingers traced over the pinkish welts on the detective’s neck.

_“_ _Muy caliente.”_

“Maybe…in the future…we…we could try more…of this…”

Sherlock gestured to his neck.

John’s eyes bulged momentarily.

_“How much_ _of the internet have you been on_ _?”_

Sherlock shrugged again.

“Not much.”

_But_ _, that could have been a lie._

 


End file.
